


I Saw the Ocean Meet the Man

by der_tanzer



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 09:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A landing party explores a small, newly confederated planet of friendly lifeforms. It should have been a good time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Saw the Ocean Meet the Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oddmonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddmonster/gifts).



> For Oddmonster, who had the idea.  
> Beta by Valis2 (you did so, I just changed the title)  
> In keeping with my tradition of stealing Trek fic titles from R.E.M's brilliant song _Monty Got a Raw Deal_.

It was supposed to be a good mission. A safe, easy, mission. The planet was part of the Federation, but in a loose, almost territorial way. Like California in the eighteen thirties. The ruling native population, a race of feathery bipeds who lived in the open and dedicated the majority of their time to the study and composition of philosophical poetry, occupied very little of the immediate landmass. They were considered to be in charge by virtue of their status on the food chain, and having vocal cords suitable to a form of communication which humans could understand.

Unlike the humans of the Federation, the Padgrens knew this.

Their population was small and they knew little of the rest of their planet. What was beyond the mountains and over the seas was a mystery. They wrote many poems on the subject, but didn’t go to see for themselves. Their bodies were heavy and their arm/wings too weak for long journeys. But mostly it just wasn’t their business to explore.

From their study of philosophy and its poets, they were aware of the possibility of another race coming toward them with real or imagined superiority, prepared to challenge them for the title of ruling native. They were also aware of the likelihood that, should the situation arise, they would lose.

The Padgrens were okay with this.

***

Four starships were in orbit around Gamma Centaury 6.1.3.2.5.9, landing away teams all over the planet to meet the population and take environmental samples. The _Enterprise_ was assigned to Padgrenia, where the inhabitants met them on the cliffs overlooking the sea. They smiled in a surprisingly charming way with their sleekly feathered heads cocked to one side, offering their clawed, lizard-like hands to shake in greeting.

Kirk introduced his crew: Mr. Spock, Lt. Sulu, Dr. McCoy, Lt. Uhura and Mr. Scott, all there for scientific research, and wee ensign Chekov, who was owed shore leave. Nuer Pamasa, the elected head of the Padgrens’ society, introduced his chief thinkers: Oul Hyamicco, Oul Nembaso, and Eou Rama, and left them to sort out the equivalencies. 

Nuer, according to Uhura, was their word for leader. Ouls were lieutenants, and Eou was _scientist_ , which didn’t have an equivalent rank. Rama’s poetry wasn’t very good, but his observations on the environment were both practical and inspiring.

The officers split into groups and began their explorations. Because Chekov was on leave and entitled to his pleasure, he was granted the cliffs where he and Scotty would take soil and plant samples, and try to find a way down to the sea. If they failed to find a path, Oul Nembaso, who was accompanying them, would fly down and collect some water. Chekov didn’t want to give up on reaching the sea himself, he wanted to touch the alien ocean of deep, cool green. But it was good to have options.

They gathered plants and grasses, taking cuttings and root samples, pleased when they found seed pods. It was fall here.

“I hope Mr. Sulu iz having as much luck as ve are,” Chekov said happily, kneeling near the cliff’s edge to gently uproot a small flowering plant with faded purple anemone-like spikes. He handed it to Scotty, who put it in a container and placed it in Nembaso’s bag. The purple of the flower was similar to that of the feathers that striped Nembaso’s body, mixed with streaks of black and green. 

Chekov wondered if they could ask for Padgren feathers—if they were kept for some purpose after molting, or discarded like the hair from his brush—or if it would be disrespectful. He decided to leave that for the captain to ask or not.

“Mr. Sulu will have no trouble finding plants,” Scotty assured him, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet.

“Da,” he agreed, and they walked on. Below them the waves crashed on the sandy beach and Nembaso’s sharp claws clicked along behind them. The Padgrens were their hosts and advisors, but didn’t tell them where to go or what to look for.

“Here iz path down,” Chekov said suddenly, pointing to a jagged cleft just ahead where a deeply lodged boulder had broken away and carved a sort of trail to the beach.

“That? Laddie, that’s nae path,” Scotty said in disbelief.

“It iz. Come, I show you.” He pulled Scotty along eagerly, letting go of his hand only when he reached the edge of the cleft. Chekov hopped down, slid a little in the loose soil, and caught his balance with a hand on the exposed cliff face. “Ze soil iz different here,” he called excitedly. “Ze layers form rapidly. Zey are t’in and—Monty, ze _colors_. Ze surface must be a different color in ewery generation!”

Only then did Scotty sit down on the crumbling edge and slide into the gouge that was the head of the path to the sea. He stared in mute amazement at the rainbow before them, barely hearing Chekov’s happy chatter as the ensign took out his tools and began to carefully extract samples of each layer. Nembaso took a core sample from above and then waited quietly, offering no advice and giving no warnings.

The Padgrens didn’t like to get involved.

“We are nae goin’ all the way tae the beach, are we?” Scotty asked when he caught Chekov looking down.

“Ve can. Zere are handholds all ze vay. Look, Monty. Ze sand iz—iz _beautiful_. Ve must see ze whole cliff face. Imagine ze colors.”

“’Tisn’t safe,” he said doubtfully. But Chekov’s grin was irresistible. And the lad was going with or without him. He may as well go along.

Chekov was able to walk a few feet down the shattered path before he had to lean back on one hand and let his feet slide. He looked over his shoulder and saw Scotty scooting cautiously on his butt, taking no chances. Chekov was glad. He loved being under Scotty most of the time, but this would not be one of them.

Halfway down, he hit a short, sharp drop, nearly five feet above what would be a good path to the bottom. He straightened up as much as he could and looked around for another route. Below him the waves crashed and he saw a flash of color in the surf, the satiny shine of a bright red shell. He just _had_ to get there.

Chekov flashed a brilliant smile over his shoulder and leapt gracefully to the right where a shelf of rock protruded from the cliff face. It was only a little lower than the drop he jumped from, but would put him in a better position to hop down to the path. 

He landed exactly as he’d planned and paused to take a breath. From somewhere above him he heard Scotty calling and called back that he was fine, it was safe. Then the rock shifted beneath his feet, pulling free of the eroded cliff, and his cheerful words rose and elongated into a cry of fear. He slid feet first down the cliff, grasping and scrabbling for anything to slow his fall. His right elbow struck another rock outcropping and he shrieked as something grabbed onto his arm and seemed to pull his body apart.

For an endless moment he hung there, staring up at the tenacious little rock-hugging tree that had caught him, ninety-five percent of his brain a blank screaming _hurt-thing_ with no mind at all, and the other five percent fascinated by the tiny tree’s strength. Then the roots tore free and he fell again. It didn’t seem to hurt as much this time.

“ _Pasha_ ,” Scotty shrieked, slipping and sliding down to the shelf that had been his Pavel’s last secure foothold. He saw the slender body of his lover on the beach far below, lying still as death as the weak leading edge of a wave lapped over him. “ _Pasha!_ ” For a near-lethal split second he was preparing to jump, and then remembered. There was help here, good help close at hand, and falling to his own death wouldn’t do anyone any good.

He flipped open his communicator and babbled to the captain that they needed help at the cliffs. There was a static-y buzz in the transmission, but he thought enough had gotten through. He’d barely put it away before Nembaso landed beside him, arms outstretched, feathers ruffling in the breeze.

“Ye can _fly_?” Scotty cried, forgetting everything he’d learned about Padgrens on the way here. “Go get him!”

“Only a little, Mr. Scott,” Nembaso said calmly. “I can’t bring Mr. Chekov up, but I can take you down. Will that suffice?”

“Aye, aye,” he babbled. “How—wha’ do I do?”

Nembaso instructed Scotty to climb on his back and hold on. Scotty did, closing his eyes as they leaned over the edge. The sensation of falling/flying was unlike anything he’d ever felt, something like what flying squirrels must do, Nembaso’s feathered arms outstretched to catch the wind. His powerful hind limbs landed them safely on the beach. Scotty let go at once and slid down Nembaso’s sleek tail onto the sand. He leapt to his feet and ran the three steps to Pavel, who was soaked through now but still hadn’t moved.

He knelt down and touched Pavel’s face tenderly, felt for his pulse, peeled back one eyelid. Pavel was alive and Scotty could have wept with relief. It was only when he started to lift the still body that he realized something was badly wrong. Pavel’s right arm was twisted behind his back and trapped beneath him, the hard knob of his humerus a grotesque protrusion under his gold shirt.

“Oul Nembaso,” he said quickly, “where are the others? My captain, the doctor—can you go back up and show them where we are?”

“Yes, sir,” Nembaso said. “But you should get him up the beach now. The tide is rising fast.” Nembaso couldn’t lift himself from here, but his strong hind legs and clawed feet were ideal for climbing the steep path and his feathered arms helped keep his balance.

Scotty would have been fascinated had he seen it. Instead he was watching the waves washing over his feet, nearly to the tops of his boots, shy of Pavel’s face but beginning to float his long curls. At least he had managed to land with his head toward the cliff.

Scotty knelt on his left side, the waves reaching to his waist now, and lifted Pavel to his chest. He felt a low groan that originated somewhere in Pavel’s belly and was relieved by this sign of life. He carried his lover to the base of the cliff in short, staggering steps, and went to his knees. Then he didn’t know what to do. Holding Pavel aloft so his arm dangled from the badly dislocated shoulder joint seemed unspeakably wrong. But laying him back down on it was infinitely worse. So there he knelt, holding the soaked body already shivering in shock, and waited for something to happen.

“Pasha, darling,” he pleaded, pushing the wet hair off his face. “Speak tae me, Pasha.”

Chekov’s eyelids fluttered, giving him a glimpse of those eyes the color of Earth’s sea.

“Monty?” he whispered, his shocky-white face contorting with pain. “What happened?”

“Ye fell, ya great daft bugger,” Scotty said tenderly. “Oul Nembaso’s gettin’ help.”

“Monty, ‘m sick,” he groaned and began to retch helplessly. Scotty turned him carefully over his knees and Pavel vomited in the sand, choking and shrieking as his arm dragged on the ground.

“Och,” Scotty breathed, weeping though he didn’t know it. “Och, laddie, softly now.” His hands were locked around Pavel’s heaving chest, straining to keep him from rolling off and landing on that arm again.

“Monty,” he whispered and retched again, bile dribbling down his chin and onto Scotty’s knee. “I’m sorry.”

“Hush, Pasha. ‘Tis a’right, lad. The doctor’s coming. Ye’ll be right as rain in just a minute.” He looked over his shoulder in hopes of seeing McCoy on the back of a Padgren officer, and instead saw the waves rolling up almost to his feet. He was almost glad when Pavel kept retching. It distracted the poor lad from discovering that they were about to drown.

Scotty flipped open his communicator and signaled the captain. What came back was a static-y transmission to the effect that exposed minerals in the cliff face were interfering with communication. Scotty tried to reach the ship to request transport, but his communication didn’t go through. He decided it was just as well. If the communicators were this bad, the transporters might be unsafe. Pasha would probably choose drowning in Scotty’s arms to being reduced to his molecular components and scattered all over the galaxy.

“Monty, help me,” Pavel whispered.

“I’m tryin’, love. This’ll hurt a bit, though.” Before Pavel could ask what that meant, Scotty shifted him upright against his chest and his unvoiced question became an agonized shriek. Scotty kept moving, tears pouring down his cheeks as he rearranged their limbs and Pavel screamed.

At the top of the cliff, the Padgren and Starfleet officers gathered and watched helplessly. Scotty folded his legs so they were as close to the cliff as possible and held Pavel on his lap, the boy’s good shoulder braced against his chest. The waves rolled up to their waists and Eou Rama, who studied the ocean as a hobby, gave Kirk a little hope that they might make it. The tide shouldn’t come up over their heads, so all they had to do was not get pulled out to sea. Kirk would have liked to let Scotty know, but perhaps the news wasn’t as encouraging as Rama meant it to be.

“I’m sorry,” Pavel said suddenly. “If I had not insisted…”

“’Twas our job, Pasha. Ye weren’t wrong to want to see the ocean.”

“I can see it now,” he said bitterly, looking down at the water swirling over their legs. It was cold and salty and so very green. “Ve are going to die here.”

“No, darlin’ love,” Scotty murmured. “No one’s dyin’. We’ll just wait for the tide tae go oot and they’ll have us topside in no time.”

Pavel nodded and vomited weakly down Scotty’s back.

“’M sorry,” he breathed and his little body went limp.

Scotty’s heart leapt into his throat and gagged him as he felt for Chekov’s pulse. Only when he found the fast but steady beat was he able to swallow his terror and breathe normally again. Almost. The green tide rose inexorably to their shoulders, cold and strong, trenching out the sand beneath them, pulling fiercely at their bodies.

When the water reached their necks, Scotty thought about standing up. If it was just a matter of holding Pavel until help came, he would have done it. But the tide was already nearly too much for them. It would have pulled his feet out from under them in a second. He compromised by rising up on his knees and leaning into the cliff. The pressure on Pavel’s shoulder would have killed him if he’d been conscious, so there was that to be grateful for.

The waves rolled higher and higher and Scotty hitched Pavel up his chest and pinned him to the cliff, whimpering like a child at the sound of the bones in his shoulder grinding together. Scotty’s brain insisted on imagining what that would look like, and when he managed to get it to stop, it was replaced by the image of bone against rock.

After what seemed like an eternity, the green tide began to recede.

***

Scotty was sitting on the sand again holding Pavel a little more comfortably in his lap when Eou Rama landed on the beach with McCoy on his back. He tried to stand, to carry the boy down to where the level of help was increasing with every pair of officers to land on the beach, but his legs wouldn’t respond. On second thought, he couldn’t feel them at all. He shouted for the doctor, too desperate to wait though McCoy was only a few yards away.

“Be careful,” he sobbed as the doctor knelt and reached for Pavel’s body. Scotty didn’t know why he was crying now, when the hideous trauma was nearly over, but he was. He tried to stop, to pull together a little dignity, but it was a lost cause. “Watch his arm, Doctor.”

“Yes, I see. It’s alright, Mr. Scott. He’s going to be fine.” McCoy didn't know if that was true or not, but he hated to see a grown man cry. “Mr. Spock, we need some help.”

It was Spock who took Chekov from him and carried him down to the new high-water line. The farther they were from the cliff, the better their electronics would work. Sulu and Kirk lifted Scotty between them and followed, moving slowly as the feeling returned to his legs.

They staggered down to where McCoy was kneeling over Chekov and dropped Scotty in the sand.

“Was he conscious at all?”

“Aye, at first. He was sick. Wee laddie puked all over me.” He stroked Pavel’s wet curls as McCoy ran a tricorder over the still form.

“Yeah, he’s got a concussion. What the hell were you two doing?”

“I tried to stop him, Doctor. But he wanted tae get doon tae the beach. Wanted samples o’ the water.”

Sulu looked up sharply at that and immediately started toward the breaking waves.

“Will ‘e be a’right?”

“We need to get back to the ship,” McCoy said in answer.

“Doctor, will ‘e…?”

“If we get back to the ship,” he snapped. Kirk contacted the transporter room, where Lt. Booth was concerned about the strength of the signals he was getting. He suggested they beam up in ones and twos, just to be safe, and Sulu volunteered to go first as a test. The quality of the communication made him believe it was safe enough, but he couldn’t let his injured friends go first.

As soon as Sulu walked off the pad, Booth locked onto McCoy and Chekov and beamed them away. Scotty was struck with horror when his lover dematerialized from under his hands, but before it fully registered, he found himself aboard the ship. He saw Sulu and McCoy rolling Pavel from the transporter room on a portable bed and somehow found the strength to get up and run.

***

The only flaw in Scotty’s plan was that McCoy was waiting for him. He was sedated, stripped, and packed off to a bed of warming blankets before knew what was going on. He’d wanted to be with Pavel, to hold his hand while his shoulder was reduced and the fractured humerus and collarbone repaired, but McCoy didn’t want him to watch. The only thing harder than working on his friends was doing it in front of their lovers.

By the time Scotty woke, Pavel was in the bed beside his, regarding him with those bright blue eyes, hazed a little with worry and pain medication.

“Monty,” he said softly. “I ha’ been zo vorried.” His accent was thickly blurred and Scotty wondered how much worrying he could have done under all those drugs.

“Ye’ve been worried? Och, Pasha…” Fighting back dizziness and the tingling in his legs, Scotty sat up and lurched out of bed. He took three halting steps and crawled in with his lover, cuddling the slender body close. It was warmer here than in his own bed, and Pavel fairly purred under his touch. “My sweet wee little Pasha.”

“You sa’wed my life,” Pavel said, as if reminding him where praise should be laid.

“Ye’d have done the same for me. Pasha, love, are ye a’right? Yer head…?”

“I zink zo. Are you?”

“Aye, just a bit chilly.”

“I am zo—zo zorry,” Pavel said slowly. “If I vas not zuch a fool…”

“No, darlin’ Pasha. Ye mighta been a bit too anxious, but ye had the right idea. And Mr. Sulu got yer samples for ya.”

Pavel smiled sleepily.

“He iz good friend. And, Monty—ze cliff face… It vas zo beautiful, no? Just as I knew it vould be.”

“Aye, love. It was gorgeous.” Not for anything would he try to take away the only good memory Pasha would have of this mission. If the rainbow cliff face and the great green sea made it worthwhile for him, that was good enough.

Chekov mumbled sleepy Russian, a phrase Scotty knew very well, and he answered as he always did. _Aye, Pasha. I love you, too._


End file.
